


The House of the Silver Swan

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alright, so I'm not entirely sure where this story will head or what I'll do with it. I'd like to cover more than just Finduilas, but so far (as in, Chapter 1) that's all it touches on. Hopefully something good will emerge from this experiment. Comments/suggestions appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House of the Silver Swan

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

"It looks like it came off the top of a horse trough that hasn't been touched for weeks." Finduilas looked into the cup. It was full of a thick, greenish mixture. 

"Yes," Her father swirled the foul concoction slightly, "But it will make you feel better." 

"If it makes me sleep, I won't drink it. Promise me it won't make me sleep." 

"Well, it will help you sleep, but only because it will relieve the cough." He tousled her dark head as she gave the cup a dubious look. "Always the wary one," he said softly. 

She looked at him, made a face at the cup, then snatched it and drained it with one swallow. A gag emitted from her throat, and it was a wonder (or so Adrahil thought) that the medicine didn't come out with it. "It tastes like horse." She said, grimacing. 

"Here." Adrahil produced another cup, full of water. "This will wash the taste away." 

Finduilas downed this cup with a similar rapidity, and lay back on the pillows with a comfortable sigh. "It doesn't rasp as much anymore." 

"I told you it wouldn't. Now. Be a good girl and try to sleep." 

"What time is it?" 

"Past your bedtime. Even if you are twelve." Adrahil bent down and kissed her forehead. "Sleep, my grey-eyed Swan." He said rather fondly, as the aforementioned eyes stared at him unblinking for a minute. Then the girl whispered: 

"Tell mother I said goodnight." 

"I will." 

"Ada?" 

"Yes?" 

"Goodnight." 

"Goodnight." 

"And Ada?" 

A slight sigh this time, but he was used to this. "Yes." 

"I love you." 

A noise that sounded like a smile. "Love you too." 

"And Ada?" 

Groan. "What?" 

"I love naneth too." 

"I know." A pause. "She knows." 

"Oh. And Ada?" 

Another groan. Louder this time. "What." 

"Why do you call me a swan?" 

"The funny story, or the serious story?" 

"Both." 

"Funny? Because when you were a baby, your screams sounded like an angry--a very angry--swan. They still do." The girl giggled. "And the serious one? Because you and I, and all of our family, were born Swans. Not the animal, but our position. We bear the name of the royal seat of Dol Amroth, and because of that, we are Swans." 

There was quiet now. The girl was, no doubt, thinking. 

"Is that all for tonight?" He asked after a while. 

"That's all." 

"Very well." 

"Goodnight, Ada." 

"Goodnight, little one." 

* * *

Finduilas spun around and tripped on the long train of her green dress, falling flat on her face. 

Ivriniel, the elder, looked down at her and shook her head. "Dearie me," she said, imitating the speech of a certain group of women in court whom Adrahil called "The Prattles." 

"Dearie me, sister, ladies don't trip!" She was clad in a similar dress--namely, a blue bedsheet. 

They were playing pretend--a privilege they could still enjoy as they were too young to do much else. Ivriniel, being sixteen and the elder, had actually been to a _real_ ladies' party, a fact which made her superior in knowledge. Finduilas very naturally looked up to her concerning how ladies _actually_ talked when no one but ladies were about. Ivriniel had not yet "come out" in society, but she was still very learned in the ways of the art of ladyship. 

"Now," Ivriniel began again as Finduilas rose slowly to her feet, dragging the unfortunate train of her "dress" with her. "The ladies of Court say lots of fine things; you wouldn't understand most of them so I won't explain." Ivriniel herself did not understand half as much as she pretended to, but Finduilas did not know this. "So all you must say is 'Charmed!' and then everyone simply _engraysheeyates_ themselves to you in a manner that's just lovely to behold!" Ibriniel was at the age in which large words are used in excess with little or no knowledge of their actual meaning. 

"Charmed." "Charmed." "Charmed." They went about and "engraysheeyated" each other for some time. Ivriniel played the role of hostess, and Finduilas was a different guest every minute or so--she had to change characters, for two people can only exchanged "Charmed!" so many times until conversation becomes generally dull and/or nonexistent. 

However, once 15 minutes passed, they grew bored of the "Charmed!" and sat themselves on chairs to have "gossips." Finduilas did not know what "gossip" was, and was eager to learn, so Ivriniel told her. "Gossips," or so Ivriniel professed, was something everyone in court partook of. It consisted of ladies sitting around and talking--

Ivriniel got no further. Finduilas, rather hot and flushed from dragging around a bedsheet, broke in. "But we just talked!" 

"Yes, but then we were _standing up_ ," Ivriniel countered. "This is different." 

"But gossips are BORING!" The younger howled. 

"You've never tried it before, poor child!" the elder responded smugly and not with a little spite. She had picked up "poor child!" at the same party, too. 

A small catfight was the result of this conversation--a few more "words" were exchanged, and perhaps a slap or two, before the not-so-demure ladies of court retired to separate ends of the playroom, both to sulk, read, and perhaps plot a bit of revenge. 

It was not ten minutes later that that books and fight were forgotten simultaneously, and they wandered off to swim somewhere together. ("Somewhere" being a large, secluded, but very suitable fountain at the back of the royal gardens. No one ever knew, so it never hurt anyone.) First they trailed their courtly garb behind them, but it tripped them up so much that the damsels forgot it entirely, and it soon lay, forgotten, in an open hallway until some bewildered servant picked it up. 

* * *

The following letter from Finduilas to her father found in the Archives of Dol Amroth. Translated (roughly) from the tipsy Sindarin scrawl that bespeaks a beginning writer. 

_Dear Father,_

_How is life in the White City? I hope the Councils haven't bothered you much. Grandfather sends his love, and says he wishes he were there. He grows tired of the stuffy hall and longs to go swimming, or sailing, or riding. I feel much pity for him._  
Do you like my writing? It is so much better than last. Ivriniel says my letters are tipsy, and I do feel mortafyed, for she has a most desyrable script and I quite long for it. Though I think she must be at least a little jealous, for Master Ovorin says I am ready to begin studying real Elvish now, and hasn't said any such thing to her so I suppose handwriting will improve and isn't that important.   
I'll be 16 next week, I am quite dying for it. It seems such an auspishus age, and I can't help longing for it.   
I hope you'll excuse bad grammar and out of place words that seem too large. Ivriniel says it is a process which every girl goes through at fifteen years of age, so I'm unfortunately stuck sith it for at the most another week. Ivriniel is quite grown up, and hopes to have many young men after she comes out. (Please don't say I told her that.)  
Kindly remind Imrahil in your next letter to him that my room is a private young lady's quarters, and no place for a boy to play silly battle games in.  
I learned a new word today...purturbed. Do send me a definition, for Ivriniel won't tell me (she doesn't know). Mother's too busy, and I'm all laid up again with this cough and can't visit the Archives. (I learned "laid up" from one of the maids--it's rather quaint, I think) 

_I remain your loving daughter,  
Finduilas _

_P.S. All here send love, not just Grandfather_  
P.P.S. Please write back   
P.P.P.S. Write mother and tell her swimming is no danger for a coughing person--I'm aching for a dip. 

Adrahil wrote back (it is not certain if this is in answer specifically to the previous letter):

_Dearest Finduilas,_  
I write only to tell you to consider your health and remain in bed. I fear I can say little more--I have much work to be done here. I thank thee for thy letter--I received it this morning with much joy. Tell Ivriniel to write more often. Keep up the studying, swan-of-mine. You have potential. Enclosed please find the desired definition. You'll be 16 by the time this reaches you--how the years fly! Forgive the abruptness--the Warden of the White Tower himself has arrived, and I must confer with him.   
-Adrahil 


End file.
